Internal Affairs (2)
Thanks to the Ragusa Archbishop's help, I met the man he had in mind. I looked at William Grace and spoke first.
"Pleased to meet you. I'm the Count of Malaga, Don Juan."
"Ah... G-good day, sir. I... I'm... William Grace, an apprentice from Notting Hill."
He appeared to be in his early twenties. In this guild system, where boys typically entered around age ten, served as apprentices, and became master craftsmen, it was no surprise he was still young. This apprenticeship model was widespread in northern Italy, northern Germany, and the Low Countries. Among commoners, free citizens lived this way in the cities. Europe at this time sat in a transitional phase of social structure between feudalism and something new. Places like eastern Germany, Poland, and Lithuania still clung to serfdom and the manorial system. In such circumstances, serfs often fled to cities that had abolished serfdom, pretending to be free citizens—but most lacked surnames.
Anyway, he hailed from England, where serfdom had been abolished in the fourteenth century. I had no intention of digging into that, but his failure to observe proper etiquette before a noble confirmed his humble origins. What mattered to me now, though, was his talent. For the moment, I decided to just talk and see.
"The Ragusa Archbishop recommended talent to me, and he pointed to you."
"Thank you for valuing a lowly wretch like me..."
"Fine. I hear you worked at the Venetian Arsenal?"
"Yes, that's right. I served as an apprentice to the chief artisan there and was the assistant supervisor in charge of galley cannons."
Exactly the man I was looking for. In this era, when skilled cannon makers were rare, I hadn't expected to find precisely the expertise I needed. Venice usually guarded its secrets jealously and avoided taking on foreign apprentices... but apparently, William's skills were exceptional enough to make an exception.
Still, I had to run the standard checks. I posed some basic questions one by one.
"Are you a Catholic?"
"Yes, my father was a church bell maker and a devout Catholic for many years. Naturally, I followed in his footsteps, and I'm baptized and recorded in the parish register under my baptismal name."
No risk of ending up before the Inquisition. I nodded in satisfaction.
"Your Italian is fluent. So you speak both English and Italian?"
"Y-yes... Italian, English, and a bit of High German."
He must have picked up the High German from interacting with northern German apprentices. Seemed useful linguistically, too.
"According to the archbishop, you walked out of the Venetian Arsenal of your own accord. Any reason why?"
"Th-that's..."
Clearly, there was something he couldn't say. These cases usually involved some romantic scandal.
"Did you violate Catholic canon law?"
Catholicism strictly forbade adultery. Rulers ignored it, of course, but commoners took it seriously—especially in Catholic Venice. Even the most talented would be expelled over such a scandal.
"P-please, take me to Spain with you?"
William's attitude shifted abruptly. He must think Italy was too dangerous for him now.
"You haven't yet proven your value to me, yet you demand it like it's already yours."
The power dynamic had flipped. As a noble, I seized the moment. The archbishop might have been fooled somehow, but William figured it would come out eventually. That's why he wanted out of Italy.
"I... I've seen the entire cannon production process in Venice and secretly documented it. And as an assistant cannon specialist, I've made many cannons myself."
Venice was hypersensitive about tech leaks. It was odd they hadn't caught on to William... but I let it slide. For me, it was like having him on a leash—perfect.
"Never occurred to you that I might ship you back to Venice and collect a reward?"
"I... I have no other options left. I just want to serve you, Count Don Juan."
Then he clammed up. His demeanor only deepened my curiosity. If he'd really done something like that, he could just return to England. Why Spain—and under a noble like me?
"Why not go back to Notting Hill?"
"If... if you'll take me into your service, I'll tell you."
"Hmm..."
William was bargaining with a noble. Any ordinary aristocrat would take offense, but it wasn't a bad deal for me.
"Very well. I promise."
Whatever his flaws, as long as he wouldn't end up in a religious trial and lose his utility, a cannon expert was invaluable—especially one versed in Venice's top-tier techniques.
"M-my real name isn't William. Nor is my surname Grace."
"Murderer?"
"..."
His silence answered that. I pieced it together. A killer, for whatever reason, unable to return home. He changed his name, drifted to Venice, learned the craft to survive, and earned the artisans' respect. Then he had an affair with a fellow apprentice's wife... the scandal broke, he got booted from the Arsenal, and now he was scraping by in distant Rome, saving to flee Italy. That's when the Ragusa Archbishop spotted him and recommended him to me. The archbishop overlooked the details for such a rare cannon expert. For me, it made him even easier to control.
"Fine. From today, your name is Mateo. Surname... Garcia."
"Mateo Garcia... Understood."
"We're leaving Rome for Toledo in three days. Liquidate your assets and prepare to move by then."
"Ah... Yes, sir. Thank you, my lord..."
Mateo trailed off slightly. I gave him a puzzled look.
"Something wrong?"
"Um... could I bring some colleagues who worked with me?"
"You have colleagues?"
"Yes, not from the Venetian Arsenal, but they supplied ingots of bronze, copper, and iron to it from within Venice. But with the recent peace..."
During the Italian Wars, Venice had amassed wealth selling arms while other Italian states suffered foreign invasions—they were merchants, after all. They hired masses of workers, even outsourcing... but now, with wars winding down, they canceled all those contracts and reverted to in-house production. The out-of-work subcontractors lost their edge fast in basic ingot smelting and drifted to Rome. Mateo wanted to bring his contacts.
Other lords with established domains might hesitate, but I was building from scratch—these were exactly the talents I needed.
"Fine. Tell them all to liquidate and gather here in three days."
"Th-thank you."
"How many are we talking?"
"About forty."
"They'd better be able to march long distances."
"Some can handle wagons, so no worries."
"No. They're to be my people now—I'll handle them myself."
Mateo fell silent, visibly moved. I knew you had to bind your key artisans early if you wanted them loyal. Wagons would cost a pretty penny for forty, but bundling a cannon master with his team of apprentices? A bargain.
We wrapped up the details. I left with my guards, met Isabel, and returned to the Apostolic Palace.
Spain, Toledo.
Philip II, the "Paper King" who hadn't yet moved to Madrid, personally welcomed the delegation. It was the evening after our arrival—the very next day. His face was already blackened by paperwork, but his expression was bright, which was a relief.
"Well done, all of you. It's been ages since we flattened those French noses."
My brother spread his arms in delight. I smiled back, mirroring his joy.
This diplomacy had yielded much. I'd made ties with Álvaro de Bazán, the future Marquis of Santa Cruz and naval admiral I needed to court, and with the young Duke of Medina Sidonia, whom I'd pull into my fold later. Best of all: Mateo the cannon expert and his forty technicians. Add the cryptographer Giambattista della Porta, and I could finally focus on internal affairs.
Brother was pleased, I was pleased. Separately, as king, he had to mete out rewards, so his eyes turned to the Duke of Medina Sidonia.
"I hear the Duke of Medina Sidonia and Admiral Álvaro especially distinguished themselves."
"Thank you, Your Highness."
"Thank you, great Philip II."
We'd already settled it between us—they'd claim all the credit, so I wasn't miffed at being overlooked.
"Of course, the Count of Malaga worked hard too."
"I thank Your Highness for your boundless mercy."
"Come, I've prepared a feast. Eat, drink, and rest today."
The bureaucrats' faces fell. With the paperwork machine gone to party, they'd shoulder it all. Philip II demanded reports on everything from one to ten. They couldn't be happy slaving like serfs while he reveled.
Ignoring their glares, my brother and the delegation moved to the feast hall. Nobles had already gathered on word of the event. After simple formalities, I was naturally summoned to my brother.
Philip II stood on the terrace, gazing out. I dismissed the chamberlain and approached.
"You've come."
"Yes, Your Highness."
"Father approved the Djerba campaign, fortunately."
"Yes, Genoa, Venice, the Papal States, and the Knights of Malta are joining."
"Father clings to power till the end..."
Philip II instantly grasped why Paul IV permitted the Djerba strike. He smirked, as if to say of course.
The nature of power. The greed to pass it to posterity never changed.
"That aside..."
His gaze turned to me, his expression cooling. I swallowed dryly despite myself.
"You brought quite a few from Italy. Better explain exactly why."
His sharpened eyes put me back on the chopping block.